


Malleus Maleficarum

by Love_andbalance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ambiguous Use of Magic, Ben Solo is Not Nice, Ben is Thirty, Dark fic, Enemies to Lovers, Experienced Ben, F/M, Graphic Violence Throughout, No Pregnancy, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Belief in Witches, Period Typical Belief in Witches and the Devil, Period Typical Sexism, Power Imbalance, Religious Fanaticism, Rey is sixteen, Reylo - Freeform, Rough Sex, Safe to Read if Triggered by Pregnancy, The Hammer of the Witch, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Rey, Witch Hunting, Witches Worship the Devil, everyone loves power, historical setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_andbalance/pseuds/Love_andbalance
Summary: Rey's life in the village where she was born is turned upside down with the arrival of Lord Ren, a man known to everyone as the "Hammer of the Witch". He has come to save them from the witch that is terrorizing their village, and Rey is assigned to help him, but as his brutal tactics begin to creep too close to her own doorstep she resolves to see him gone as quickly as she can and by any means necessary.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 19
Kudos: 31





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I will update tags as I go and do my best to summarize any potentially upsetting things in the notes before each chapter but this is a dark fic and will have many characters behaving badly. There will be strong elements of violence and while Rey does go willingly into every sexual encounter, she is much younger than Ben in this fic. If those are elements that you feel you would not enjoy then please protect yourself and don't read. Otherwise I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Here we go, my little pretty ones!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are setting the mood for the story with this short little prologue, and there will be very unpleasant major character death to start with. 
> 
> CW // Major character death, graphic violence, the beginnings of child grooming by a more powerful older male (not sexual)

_French Countryside_

_1470_

Nestled at the foot of a green mountain, on the banks of a serene river where the first warm breath of spring had coaxed wildflowers into blooming, the village of Alderaan burned.

Smoke rose, black and rank with the smell of burning flesh, against the pale blue of a morning sky, and the air rang with the tormented wails of the dying.

Beneath the protective branches of an old oak, the lone survivor clutched her sides in terror and vomited up the last of her breakfast. Porridge was sticky and foreign in her throat, coating her mouth with bile and acid before splashing onto the dark earth and the hem of her skirt.

She clapped her hands to her ears, humming the hymn that her mother had always used as a lullaby. She’d run as fast as she could, as far as her legs would take her, and even with the distance and the song and her palms acting as a shield to muffle the sound, she could still hear the screaming.

Her attempts to silence the sounds of suffering, pointless as they were, nearly cost her life, disguising the rapid clip of approaching hoofbeats until it was nearly too late. By the time she heard the clamorous noise of pursuit, the shouts of men were coming from just below the crest of the nearest embankment. She had time to do nothing but hastily kick dirt over the evidence of her bout of illness and scramble her way hastily into the branches of the tree.

Rough bark dug into her fingertips, scraping and gouging at the skin and the beds of her nails as she climbed and her skirts tangled in the sharp ends of countless twigs, slowing her down like boney fingers reaching out to pull her to her doom.

She reached the highest branch that she thought could support her weight, clinging in fright to the trunk as the limber young bough bent and curved ominously beneath her, and waited. She squeezed her eyes closed, tears leaking from beneath her lashes to run trails of sorrow through the soot and ash on her cheeks.

“The witch can’t have gone far,” called a rough voice from below. “Not on foot.”

“She’s a witch,” said another, his voice high pitched and frightened. “There’s no way to know how far she’s gotten with the Devil’s help.”

“We’ve done enough, Lord Vader” came a third. “There’s all manner of demons in these woods and I’m not chasing a witch straight into hell itself.”

“Do you want to go back and tell Palpatine and his cardinals that you let a witch escape?” the first man asked, and the others fell silent. “We’ve got orders to burn the witch of Alderaan.”

“We did,” someone argued, voice carrying above the restless stamping of horses’ hooves and the jingle of a bridal. “Burned the whole village to the ground.”

“Yet this girl got away,” snarled the first, the one that must be the leader. “How do you think she did that if it wasn’t with the help of the Devil himself? The Organa girl is a witch, and her escape will be on your head. Do you want to join her on the pyre?”

There was no answer and in the silence that followed the girl bit her lip until it bled to silence the soft sounds of her sobs.

“Then find her,” the leader snapped. “We don’t come out of these woods without her.”

***

_Near the border of France and Germany_

_1490_

“Ben!”

Her screams echoed in the valley, the name of her only son a plea on her lips. He would not look at her from his place beside the man who had come to finally claim her for Palpatine at last.

Twenty years of hiding and the robes of Palpatine’s cardinal were as red as the blood they’d drawn from her, as red as the flames licking at the stake she was bound to. She coughed as her cries drew smoke into her lungs and knew there was no hope left. The flames licking at her feet drew another scream from her throat, her son’s precious face the last sight that she would ever see.

“You’ve done very well, Benoit.”

The boy nodded, his eyes never leaving the scarred face of the clergyman beside him. He could do nothing more for the woman who wept for him, the one who had given her life to the Devil long before he was born.

“You have a gift from God,” Snoke continued, ignoring the wailing as fire purified the soul of the unholy temptress tied to the stake. “Few among us could have done His will when it was our own mother making pacts with Satan, but you…Ah, you have a true devotion to the Lord and His cause.”

Benoit was large for his age, his height and breadth of chest impressive for a young man who had seen only thirteen short summers, but Snoke loomed over him and he had to tip back his head to see the man’s fervent expression, half hidden behind the scars that marred him.

Scars given to him by a witch, some said, and most believed he’d been half mad with the lust for their blood ever since.

Benoit’s own face was impassive, his features cold even as the flames heated the air around them and cast shadows that crept ominously across the harsh lines of his face. His ears were too big and his nose too long, features he’d gotten from a father long lost to fever and misfortune.

 _Her_ fault, no doubt, as were all the other ills of the village.

Leia had appeared in this village mysteriously nearly twenty years ago, and the villagers had allowed her to stay. She’d married a local man, and all had seemed well for the first few years. The unnatural pitch-dark hair of her child and the numerous devil’s marks on his skin had started the whispers at his birth, which were only escalated by the sudden death of her husband not long after.

By the time Benoit was twelve, all of the villagers’ misfortunes were being laid cleanly at her feet.

Rumors had eventually traveled as far as Paris, and Snoke, rumored to be a recent arrival from the churches in Germany, had been dispatched to investigate. Whispers raced across the countryside that he had burned more than two hundred witches in his homeland over the last three years, and Palpatine, unhappy with his people’s wild ways, was eager for Snoke to turn his skills on the citizens of France.

Leia had refused to break under the accusations of her neighbors or the inquisitor’s knife, but the condemnation of her son, stoic as he had stood at Snoke’s side and refused to meet her eyes, had been enough to convict her.

The fact that she had birthed him had made no difference to Benoit. What he’d seen her do left no doubt in his mind what kind of woman she was and the lies she’d told him all these years. He’d believed she was innocent until he’d seen the proof with his own eyes, seen her doing things that had shaken him to his core.

They all knew the telltale signs of the witch and the necessity of stamping them out. Their cruelty and mischief put everyone in danger and turning her in had been the only way to protect the village and ensure that her soul was purified in the fire. It was the only help that he could give her, the only chance she had at entering the kingdom of heaven.

There could be only one fate for witches.

Everyone knew that.

In fact, the ink stain color of his hair and the scattering of dark marks that dotted his pale skin would have made him a target for the pyre himself if he hadn’t been so eager to prove himself to Snoke.

Snoke clapped Benoit on the shoulder as the screams finally fell silent.

“You must come with me,” he said. “Palpatine will wish for you to be trained.”


	2. A Pretty Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Malleus Maleficarum was a real book that was published in Germany. It gave instructions to be used in the detection of witches. This is based only very loosely on that concept. It's meant to be a bit of a historical fantasy, and won't be true to the subject matter that inspired it. 
> 
> Reading about the Malleus Maleficarum and the European witch trials is always an interesting way to pass the afternoon if you are inspired to look into the real history and I highly recommend it.
> 
> My beta for this chapter was TristenCrone, who also writes Reylo. She has an amazing Harry Potter crossover fic that you should check out!

“Jakku? It hardly seems the place to find anyone doing the devil’s work, does it, Lord Ren?”

Kylo pulled his horse to a stop at the top of the hill, surveying the small group of barely patched-together peasant homes on rocky soil that sat in the small valley below. There was smoke pouring from the chimneys, a small comfort against the oncoming winter, and a scattering of chickens pecking at the hard earth, but there was little else to be seen.

The one public building, a small church with a cross that sat slightly crooked at the top of the spire, was outlined against a gray sky, heavy with the promise of snow to come before nightfall.

“Do not make the mistake of believing the devil seeks only to twist the souls of the powerful, Mitaka. He will take whatever he can get. This village is far from the protection of the more watchful eyes of the church, such as can be found in Paris, and they have only one poor priest to watch over them. He is old and untrained, blind to the ways of the witch and how they lie and sneak amongst his flock.”

“I understand, Lord Ren,” Mitaka said, huddling deeper into his cloak as the wind swirled around them. “It is good that word of their troubles has reached the ear of those who can help.”

“It is,” Kylo agreed, his breath hanging white in the frigid air as his horse, and those of his companions, stamped restlessly on the frostbitten ground. “Snoke is wise and he recognized the signs immediately. There is a witch in Jakku, and we will not leave this place until she is found and meets her inevitable end on the pyre.”

“It will warm the place,” Vicrul said from behind him, blowing on his hands to warm them. “Nothing burns hotter than a witch sent to meet her devil on a purifying flame.”

Kylo frowned, his saddle creaking as he shifted to meet Vicrul’s eyes. The church expected much of any knights in its service and it was his job to remind them of their place and Palpatine’s expectations.

“Don’t be blasphemous,” he chastised. “God’s mercy on those souls is a serious matter.”

Vicrul looked away, sharing a quick glance with the other riders that Kylo chose to ignore. They did not share his devotion—their loyalty came from the power he gave them and the pain they were encouraged to dispense—but they followed his instructions without argument and for him that was good enough. Witch hunting was a hard and dangerous calling, few even among the battle-hardened knights of France were willing to take on the task, so he made do as long as their behavior brought no shame to the church or to him.

Villagers scrambled to watch as they rode through the small gathering of houses, peeking at them from doorways and leaning out into the lane after they had passed by on their way to the church. There was no mistaking Kylo’s purpose here. The black tunic he wore, with its single blood red cross emblazoned on the front, identified his place in the church. None but a witch hunter could wear such a thing, even his knights were not permitted the same honor. The crosses on their chests were gray, merely outlined in crimson, marking them as his enforcers but nothing more.

Kylo’s eyes were the ones that mattered. His decisions brought life or death to all he surveyed.

The church was quiet when they pushed their way inside, the heavy door cloaking the inside in darkness that the few flickering candles did little to penetrate but doing nothing at all to protect those within from the cold.

The village priest, wrapped in thick robes and nodding his head deferentially, scurried up the aisle between the pews. “You must have been sent from Paris,” he said quickly. “I have received word that you would be coming. I am Father Canady.”

Kylo nodded, his gaze taking in the priest’s ruddy cheeks and the roughly hewn church pews. Everything was as he had anticipated for a small village so far from anything. “I am Lord Ren. I was sent by Lord Palpatine to help aid your village in apprehending the witch among you.”

Father Canady coughed into his hand, shaking his head as the breath rattled in his lungs. “We have no witch in Jakku, my lord. I said as much to Lord Palpatine when the rumors reached him.”

“You did,” Kylo agreed. “But rumors have reached the ears of those in Paris that would suggest otherwise.”

“Rumors of dead chickens and failed crops,” the priest grumbled. “We are a poor farming village, my lord. Animals die here—they fall prey to foxes or the bitter winter cold. Our earth is hard and the fields are fickle—we lose crops. It is the way of things here in this place. It has naught to do with a witch.”

Kylo hummed as the knights behind him shifted restlessly. They hadn’t come so far to be turned away now with natural explanations for the villager’s misfortunes.

“And what of the rest?’ Kylo asked. “Petty arguments that lead to a neighbor’s untimely death, strange sounds in the night?”

“Illness comes for every village,” the priest replied, his face obstinate in the dim light. “And strange noises hurt no one.”

“I am trained under Lord Snoke,” Kylo said, dismissing the priest’s words with an impatient wave. “We shall discover the truth.”

Father Canady paled, swallowing visibly at Snoke’s name. “And by the time you are done? Will we have a village left to celebrate that it has been found?”

“Snoke’s methods are much less destructive than those used the church used before he came to us,” Kylo said, frowning at the implication in the other man’s question. He had thought that it was common knowledge that the church’s methods were much less precise before Snoke had arrived from Germany with his knowledge of interrogation and witch detection. A single woman on the pyre was much preferred in these days than what Lord Vader had done for Palpatine before Snoke had appeared. Not since Alderaan had an entire village needed to be destroyed. “We will question those who live in the village instead of burning it down.”

Father Canady looked like he might say more, but a sweeping glance over the cross on Kylo’s chest and the knights arrayed at his back was enough to still the words on his tongue. There was nothing he could do or say to stop what was coming and Kylo was glad that he was intelligent enough to realize it.

Sometimes a village priest would be too protective of his small congregation and would try to stand between them and Kylo’s work. It pained him to oppose them, but they had to be brought to the understanding of what was necessary, and it wasted precious time.

“We will begin the process in the morning,” Kylo said calmly. “We will need a place to sleep while we’re here and accommodations for our horses.”

Father Canady nodded. “We don’t often have outsiders here, but there are a few spare beds that we keep available in the church for the occasional traveler, and we have men that can care for the horses.”

“Good,” Kylo said. “We will require your assistance in learning the habits and routines of the villagers, identifying those most likely to be cavorting with the devil.”

Father Canady coughed again, and his lips were tinged with blue as he struggled to draw in air. “I rarely leave the church,” he said, drawing a hand across his mouth. “It has become more difficult with each passing year, especially in the cold.”

Kylo frowned again. “I need someone that we can trust to guide us. It makes the process far more efficient.”

“I have someone,” Father Canady said after a moment of hesitation. “Someone that I believe you can trust to help you in your search if you still believe that a witch lurks in my village.”

“Who?”

“A ward of the church,” Father Canady explained. “A young orphan that has been in my care for several years.”

Kylo considered that, weighing his distrust against the priest’s clear signs of illness. That was likely another misfortune attributable to the witch, an indication of the woman’s strength if she was able to target the town’s only man of faith. Swift action was obviously imperative, and they did not have the time to waste when accepting the priest’s word about his orphan ward could help focus their efforts.

“Fine,” he said finally. “We will accept help from the boy. Tell him to be ready at dawn.”

Father Canady opened his mouth to speak but the front door opened behind them, light spilling across the walls as the wind swirled in on icy fingers. Kylo turned, swiveling with his knights to look at a small, huddled figure that entered the church.

For a moment, all was still as they stared at the person—it must be the boy, based on the slightness of his stature he could be no fully grown man—who had paused just inside the door, hood drawn up to shelter his face from the wind and the first flakes of the new snowfall that must have just begun.

He breathed a quick breath of surprise, the warmth of his exhale a cloud of white in the last of the frigid winter sunlight.

“Acherea,” Father Canady said quickly. “Come, child, and greet Lord Ren.”

The boy hurried forward, head bowed low as he passed the knights and came to stand before Kylo. Even in the dark of the church it was plain that the boy was quite young, perhaps too young to be of much service. The top of his head barely reached Kylo’s shoulders, even with the extra height the hood provided.

Something, small detail, tickled the back of Kylo’s mind as the boy swept back his hood and faced them, standing tall and unafraid beside the priest.

Kylo blinked in confusion at the face that was revealed from the shadows. High cheekbones with a scattering of freckles on work-tanned skin, a wide pink mouth, delicately arched brows…all framed by dark hair that was pulled back in an inelegant bun at the nape of a slim neck.

_ Acherea _

Of course.

Acherea was not the kind of name given to boys, orphaned or no, but it was quite fitting for the young woman standing in front of him now, staring at him with wide and innocent eyes.

“Lord Ren,” she said softly, dipping into a quick curtsey with one hand on the skirts that had been concealed by her winter cloak.

Kylo turned to face Father Canady with a quick shake of his head. “We cannot use her,” he said quickly. “Surely this is not the ward that you spoke of?”

“Rey is the closest person to me in this village,” Father Canady said, patting the girl on the shoulder as she looked from the priest and back to Kylo with an expression of polite curiosity. “You will find that there is no one I trust more.”

“Witches are most often women,” Kylo said, his tone firm and without apology. “Not always, certainly, but often enough we could never be sure that the girl herself is not the witch we seek.”

“Archerea? A witch?” Father Canady began to laugh, stopping only when the next fit of coughing forced it from his chest. “The girl is no witch. She cares for the sick, the ill, the lonely. I’ve raised her myself and I’d sooner accuse you of being a witch than her.”

The girl was looking at him now, her eyes moving from the cross on his chest to the knights next to him as she pieced together who he was and what he was doing in her village.

“You’re the Witch Hammer,” she murmured, crossing herself quickly as she took a step away from him, closer to the side of Father Canady.

He’d heard the name before, knew what was whispered about him since he’d finished his training with Lord Snoke. The Malleus Maleficarum was the name of the book that had prompted Snoke’s new techniques as its wisdom had spread from Germany to the rest of Europe, techniques that Kylo had used so much that his presence had become synonymous with its title.

_ Malleus Maleficarum _

_ The Hammer of the Witch _

None before her had dared to say such things to his face, but he did not deny the truth of her words.

“Word has reached Paris that there is a witch Jakku,” Father Canady said. “Lord Ren has come to find her.”

“I see,” the girl said. “And you wish for me to help him?”

“I cannot,” the priest said gently. “And so, you must. The sooner the witch is found, the sooner our village will be safe once again.”

The girl frowned, eyeing him and his knights from the corner of her eye. “If you believe I must,” she acquiesced, “then I will do what I can.”

Kylo sighed, but it seemed they had little choice. If the girl was not the witch, then her aid would be invaluable in their search. If the girl was the witch, then she would be close enough to them that she was certain to get herself discovered.

Either way, it seemed that she was to be by his side until the truth was revealed.

“Thank you,” Father Canady said, his smile weak as he looked at her. “Lord Ren and his men will be sleeping here until their duty is done. Would you mind preparing their beds?”

She shook her head, giving the priest’s hand a quick squeeze before hurrying off to fulfill his request. Her form was hidden beneath her winter layers but Kylo stiffened as he realized his knights were watching her leave.

They would be chastised as soon as he had them alone. They had other things to focus on and the girl was not a suitable object of their interest. They needed to be reminded that a witch often had a pretty face. 


End file.
